Brother
by Carneeval
Summary: His brother was the most important thing to him, his only protection, and his light.


_You said you were the strongest man in the world…_

Liar

-Heather Mason-

Big brother.

Probably the most important word in the world to Mark Townshend.

For years as a child he'd lived in a world of dread, but there was only one light of purity to help him find a way out of the tunnel that was read as his life. Most people gave this all to important description to their mother, but for him that was his older brother Henry. Their father had a temper that went to lengths of eventual prescribed medication; he guessed that child abuse just wasn't considered much of a "problem" during his child hood.

Not that he could say a great deal over his situation anyways, he didn't have the scars to show. His scars belonged to his brother. He'd stare at some points whilst they got ready for school, even when the summer approached Henry would still zip up a jacket or slip on a long sleeved shirt. It was a cover, he'd smile over at Mark and laugh slightly, something he didn't do much around anyone else, "Don't worry," He'd say, "They'll go away."

Mark wouldn't smile when Henry got his backpack on and rushed both of them out the door, it wasn't like Mom could do so, she was always to busy, whether it was working, paying bills, or leaning over the counter her head in her forehead thinking and thinking. At least that was what she answered when Henry asked her what was wrong, "Nothing…I just… Have something on my mind…"

But everything was wrong, with her, with Dad, with that whole family, it was all wrong and she just couldn't take it. That was why at the age of sixteen he and Henry were putting roses at the foot of a grave… Henry never bought flowers for the grave next to hers… It was always barren, empty, just like their fathers eyes… At least he'd never have to look in those eyes again, only the time they ever had feeling inside was when he'd been grabbed, shook, and the yelling began. It happened at such lines of obscenities that he couldn't concentrate on words, only horrifying acid eyes.

Everything became set view again though, only when he heard the door open, the screaming stopped and blurs became vision, both of them looked to the door. Henry stood there, staring at the scene before him, his mother standing in the kitchen as usual crying had been of no use, it didn't take long for shock to become rage, he rushed forward pulling on their fathers hands for him to remove him from Mark's shirt, standing up to the man was a feet Mark couldn't imagine at such an amount. "Let him go!" He yelled struggling against him. Their father yelled something, but all Mark could focus on that, only Henry.

In the next moment he flung his arm sending Henry across the room, his landing place was the glass table that sat in the middle of the two couches, under his weight the entire table shattered, slits of glass tracing like paint across his arms. That was the last time he'd seen Henry in a short-sleeved shirt… For a moment, everything stopped as he rose himself from the broken pieces, blood sliding down his skin, their father finally let him go, grunting and taking himself into his room, Mark was still in shock, even when Henry fell onto his knees holding the wounds, after retrieving his senses he dropped to his side, but his elder brother smiled to him, his eye in a wince, "Hey kiddo… You okay?"

Tears formed at the side of his eyes, normally he waited to cry until he was safe in his bed so he could pretend everything was okay during the day, but he finally let his emotions fall down at this moment, "You…You idiot…You're the one who should be worrying about yourself!"

Henry shook his head letting out a breath from his nose still smiling, he leaned forward his head resting on Mark's shoulder, "As long as I'm protecting my little brother that means I'm okay…"

The tears feel more rapidly at this comment, he swore they would never stop, but he looked up and the same feeling of stop motion returned. Henry had left the door open when he'd removed his angry father away and paid the price, a man stood outside, further away from the door but just close enough to see inside, past the lank blonde hair, green eyes focused down he could tell…Just tell somehow he was looking purely at Henry… Had this man seen the whole thing, but even as Mark kept his eyes glued to him, he turned away walking down the sidewalk, never to be seen again…

Even as all of this happened, he was the one to help Henry clean and wrap the wounds and each day checking them Henry would frown and see they were not healing not properly… A few did, but without the proper treatment the deeper that had completely slashed him just kept their place as un-healing scars…

Forever to remember.

All of these things two young boys had to handle themselves, but their mom couldn't… "Hey…we should go…" Henry smiled to him, and he woke up from the memories that invaded and took over, as if it was all still happening. When Henry spoke though, he knew it wasn't, and he could actually smile, with his big brother raising him, everything was okay it was so hard to believe that at his age he could raise his own brother after the Townshends became news of a murder suicide while their children were at school. How could he be happy? His mother was weak, but wasn't a bad person… But with Henry raising him, everything was okay; he was safe and happy.

Happy…

He could finally understand that word.

So when the two had separated, Henry working as a photographer, him successful in business after they took college together, he became a bit worried when Henry's usual calls went without being done, and his went strait to voicemail… There was no way… No, everything would be okay, Henry could take care of himself, he'd raised a teenager and himself on his own, and so whatever had happened was something he could handle.

That was his big brother, capable and reliable.

So why had he gotten a call from the South Ashfield manager?

Why had he signed his signature at a morgue?

Why was he being asked so many questions about him?

Why was he standing at a grave?

And why did it say Henry Townshend?

* * *

**Uh…Wow…I upset myself at writing the end, I hope it has the same effect on you guys ^-^ (Hey, emotional responses in writing is a good thing) Anyway, this was inspired by **

**rockerbabe1429's wonderful story Eye of the Receiver and I wanted the name to play off of that, she gave me permission to write this and… I didn't expect it to depress me, but I'm hoping it turned out well~! **


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